You belong to me, he said, when we met at the wedding that night.
You belong to me, he said, when we watched the sun rise.
You belong to me, he said, when he called me the next month.
You belong to me, he said, when we kissed out on the pier.
You belong to me, he said, when we went back to his house.
You belong to me, he said, when we woke up the next day.

But we belong together, he said, when all the days had passed.
But we belong together, he said, when I told him not call.
But we belong together, he said, when he showed up at my door.
But we belong together, he said, when he fought his way inside.
But we belong together, he said, when in the kitchen I screamed.
But we belong together, he said, when he did that thing to me.

You’re mine now, I said, when I got up from the floor.
You’re mine now, I said, when the hate burned in my chest.
You’re mine now, I said, when I got into the car.
You’re mine now, I said, when I showed up at his door.
You’re mine now, I said, when I embraced him on the porch.
You’re mine now, I said, when the knife went in his back.